El Libro de La Felicidad

by Ancira Berny Selma

París, 1923. Sam, joven violinista miembro de la alta burguesía judía de San Petersburgo, se suicida. Esta noticia produce en Vera, su amiga de infancia, una fuerte conmoción que agita los cimientos de su adormecida memoria.

Genres: Fiction, Russia, Russian Literature, France, Classics, Roman, Novels

263 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1936

Reviews

[Paula Mota · Rating 3 out of 5]

Versão portuguesa: "O Livro da Felicidade", editora Ambar, tradução de António Pescada

- Você compreende quando se diz que a felicidade é como o ar, que não se sente?
- Não. Acho que não.
- E eu também não. Penso que se me acontecesse uma felicidade, a sentiria constantemente, e havia de querer senti-la. Nunca aceitaria habituar-me a ela.
- E já lhe aconteceu?
- Claro que não.
- Eu sinto por vezes a felicidade como uma asfixia. Mas o maior segredo... O maior segredo é compreender que eu sou a única insubstituível no mundo, e tudo o resto se pode manipular.

Este livro começa de uma forma tão trágica, que pensei que o título era irónico. A protagonista, Vera, diz que procura a felicidade, mas tende a impressionar-se e a relacionar-se com homens de saúde mental e física instável, devido a algo que a mim me pareceu apenas compaixão. A escrita é bastante boa, no entanto, transmitiu-me muito pouco, tal como Vera me deixou totalmente indiferente.

[Tuck · Rating 4 out of 5]

Poignant story of Russia young women leaving (escaping) st Petersburg during the revolution and whose newlywed husband soon sickens in Paris and her life is reduced to sad nurse maid. But oh so much more of a story here, with her fantastical childhood friend Sam who later travels to Paris to commit suicide (for her?) To a new man she finds love and happiness, err except for his wife (pistol packing wife). Berberova supposedly really captures the Russian soul of melancholy and ecstacy

[Mihaela · Rating 4 out of 5]

3.5 *

[Steve · Rating 5 out of 5]

Love and its demands, and its ever changing face at different times in our lives, is the theme of Nina Berberova’s novel The Book of Happiness. Berberova’s novel is set in the early part of the Twentieth Century, a time that has seen Love subjected to the historical — and human individual crushing -- forces of war, politics, and revolution. However, Berberova is willing to see Love’s possibilities -- as long as Love is stripped free of illusion. For Love to exist, it must maintain a balance between the extremes of passion and nihilistic boredom. The perfect (or, perhaps, imperfect) vehicle for this unromantic love is the character Vera, a Russian emigre (like Berbervova herself), who is a survivor of her times.

The novel opens, with the surface irony (considering the title of the book) of a suicide. Vera’s childhood friend, Sam Adler, a musician, has committed suicide in a Paris hotel. Called to his hotel room, Vera sits beside the dead body of her friend and remembers their childhood in prerevolutionary St. Petersburg. It was there, in the Tauride Garden, that she and her sister first see Sam, an epileptic, who has passed out in the snow. Vera and her sister save him, and so starts a friendship that is encased in the innocence of childhood. But there is a maturity in Vera’s approach to this friendship, an innate sense of balance, that she falls back on again and again throughout the novel. She is suspicious of sentiment (thus baring Berbervova’s clear attachment to Chekov), and yet, while watching Sam play his violin, she senses a beauty that is beyond emotion:

But the violin touched her heart in a different way. This was like the way poems assailed her, or simply her nameless ecstasy at the sight of the stars in the sky or the flowers in the field. This was not something one talked about.

Time, and the Revolution, will eventually separate the two friends. As Sam departs, he asks Vera to bless him, even though he’s Jewish:

‘But I. . .you know. . . I’m not much of a believer. . . sometimes,’ she said clumsily, but she made the sign of the cross at the bridge of his nose. ‘May God preserve you and help you. Lord, if you exist, make it so that we see each other again.’

It is tempting to see this scene as part of an ironic circle, but Vera refuses to dwell on it. Perhaps God -- the supreme ironist -- gives us what we ask for. And perhaps, in some mysterious way this blessing balances out Sam’s final act. As she watches the coaches depart, Vera now senses a new life beginning, but she also senses a kind of death:

And now the second and behind it the third carriage set out in the downpour to the Nikolayevsky Station. Oh, how those wheels turned, how the bodies of the carriages bounced, how their black, funerally shiny tops rocked.

Vera is now twenty and, at a party, meets Alexander Albertovich. She seduces the older man, as if intent on losing her virginity, and eventually Alexander gets the hint, with Vera sprawled before him on a couch in the moonlight. Afterwards, while watching dawn break, Vera becomes uneasy and tries to recall what gospel story this particular morning reminds her of. (Peter’s denial of Christ is, of course, the story she fails to remember.) Vera later marries Alexander, though her father cautions her that she’s marrying out of compassion, not love. Alexander, who is at odds with the Communist regime, leaves for Paris with Vera. Paris is hardly gay, but is instead damp and depressing. Alexander begins his slow, tubercular descent into death. But he is dutifully attended by Vera, who looks beyond the dreary nursing of her husband, and even beyond Sam’s suicide:

And the hours started to tick by — the hours of her life. There were many of them, these hours. Liudmila polished the kitchen faucet and left. Outside it was May, it was December — but Vera loved everything, after all, since she had made up her mind to look at life that way once and for all. What did it matter what the weather was, or who was beside her, or who awaited her after that calendar page way in the back over there was torn off, when she loved everyone and everything?

This resolution, always existing as a seed within Vera, has been firmed up now by Sam’s death. As Alexander declines, she reminds herself of the need to “keep on. . .with this criminal, this iron love of life, for we have nothing else.” Sam’s boredom and hatred of life is thus balanced out by Vera’s love of life, even though her circumstances are much bleaker than that of Sam, the famous violinist who can no longer live in a wealth of possibilities.

With Alexander’s death, Vera, hair now bobbed, leaves for Nice, to live with her sister-in-law, Lise. It’s a dissolute break for Vera, with plenty of screwing around. But, after her extended duty as nurse to her husband, she has earned her fun -- though she quickly sees it as a dead end, and her internal moral needle returns her to a kind of balance. Vera departs for Paris, but tells Lise, cryptically, she wants nothing to do with “K.”

“K” shows up as Karelov, a cartographer, who has fallen in love with her. It is in many ways a romantic attachment — something Vera is suspicious of (though she can be quite romantic herself, provided she keeps a tight leash on how long her emotions are given free play). Also showing up is Dashkovshy, an older man, something of a domesticated demonic figure, who obviously is trolling for Vera (he was a former lover of Vera’s mother). Vera herself seems to toy with the notion that Dashkovksy represents a potential lover, while at the same time trying to convince Karalov that love is, at its best, “banal” -- a definition Karelov is unwilling to accept.

One reason for Vera’s ambivalence is Karelov’s own unsettled marriage situation. He is married, but the woman (a gypsy) is unstable. For Vera, this is not an excuse. She doesn’t quite view Karelov’s freedom as total. Eventually, there is a pathetic attempt at murder by Karelov’s wife, which Vera submits to in an almost Christ-like way. She appears to do this for Karelov’s sake. Earlier, before the attack, and upon hearing that Karelov had a wife, Vera found herself remembering her school days and a New Testament passage that had moved her: “Blessed are those that thirst.”. It is this passage that supplies Vera with an epiphany of sorts, and that leaves her remarking “Lord, how good it is.” The New Testament may be the Book of Happiness, though Vera recalls gospel details only in an uncertain way, turning to the gospel only when her emotions are in need of some ungraspable reinforcement. For Vera, the “Book” is hardly a concrete compilation of various books and epistles. After the murder attempt, she again finds herself lingering over the single word “Blessed.” Being blessed is an understanding, no matter the hardships, she has always had. With this brief passage, her life crystallizes: she is unhappy, she is happy; she finds life and love continuously surging within her. There is nothing static about maintaining balance, as one goes through life seeking to maintain that “dizzying equilibrium.”

Many thanks should go to the editors of New Directions and particularly the translator, Marian Schwartz, for resurrecting the works of this major 20th Century writer. The Book of Happiness is novel writing at its best.

[Paula Koneazny · Rating 4 out of 5]

The Book of Happiness, although apparently written in the 1990s, at the end of Berberova’s long life, reads like a modernist novel of the early 20th century. (Both Virginia Woolf and Dorothy Richardson come to mind). This despite the author’s own references to Russian writers such as Tolstoy, Pushkin, and Garshin as well as to Jules Verne. The Book of Happiness is divided into three sections each of which is an account (although not in any reportorial sense) of a love affair/ relationship. Three sections, but four men with whom the protagonist Vera becomes involved in some way. Each man stands, in a sense, for an aspect of the old Russia of memory, story and childhood dreams. In fact it is their storytelling that creates a common denominator among the four men in Vera’s life (five if one counts Vera’s father).

It is Berberova’s treatment of time, I believe, that places her writing in the camp of the 20th century Moderns. In Part Three, Vera notes that she is “alone with time, which was passing, making her neither mortal nor immortal” and that “she felt not that time was flowing through her but that she herself was time. Berberova’s prose is hallucinatory and dream-like throughout; she segues from image to image, episode to episode, as if splicing frames in a film.” The novel opens with the image of a suicide. A young man, a concert violinist named Sam, has been found dead in his Paris hotel room from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. He has left the address and telephone number of Vera, his closest childhood friend, on his night stand for the hotel staff to find. Here, from the very beginning, Berberova explicitly invokes cinematic techniques: “Through the window [of her dead friend’s hotel room:] she could see the Place de l’Opéra and the beginning of the Boulevard des Capucines, as if someone had started some director’s old film running on the screen of the window.” Gazing at Sam’s dead body, Vera muses that “It was like trying to lay a negative over a printed photograph so that they coincided.” In his last letter, Sam wrote, “I’m bored. I wanted something I couldn’t have, and everything I did get bored me.” For Sam, despite love, “life is the enemy.” For Vera, life is the experience of happiness, a happiness that she defines as that which lasts. Part I of the novel concerns itself with Vera and Sam’s childhood and adolescent friendship: Vera and Sam meet in St. Petersburg when Vera is 10 and Sam is 9 (circa 1911). Sam is Jewish, Vera, Christian. Sam’s father is a lawyer and Vera’s an engineer. From the day they meet, Vera and Sam spend every free moment together. Sam’s world is that of the imagination. He is a fanciful teller of tales and the two children create an almost hermetic world together, one that lasts until Sam’s family must emigrate in the aftermath of the 1917 Russian revolution. Vera remains behind in Petersburg to endure the hunger and scarcity as well as the change in social conditions brought about by the political turmoil of the era. Soon, she too leaves Russia for Paris, along with her newly-wed, tubercular, and soon-to-be dead husband Alexander Albertovich (Alexander’s father was French, although a naturalized Russian citizen). Part II accounts for the love story (if it is one) between Vera and Alexander and the first years of Vera’s life as a Russian émigré in Paris. Part III takes place after Alexander’s death and involves two subsequent relationships: one between Vera and Daskovsky, one of Vera’s beautiful mother’s four former lovers. Daskovsky becomes something of a flawed (perhaps even suspect) mentor or confidante to Vera. A second relationship links Vera and Karelov, whom Vera encounters in the south of France after her also-widowed sister-in-law Lise whisks her away following Alexander’s funeral. Vera returns to Paris a year and a half later, freshly determined to experience, and thus to know, the fullness of life and happiness, She is soon followed there by Karelov, who appears without notice at her door. They resume their affair in what appears to be a blissful state of matter-of-factness. Upon this note, the novel ends.

[Lavinia · Rating 3 out of 5]

I liked it. Unfortunately by the time I got used to its rhythm, it ended. The part that speaks about Sankt Petersburg is very warm and white, the part that describes Paris reminded me of "Bleu", Kieslowski’s film – the young alienated woman etc.

[Camille · Rating 2 out of 5]

Abandonne à 20%

[Nahibya · Rating 2 out of 5]

Los tres primeros capítulos los amé con profunda pasión, se sentía tan mística esta relación de amistad con Sam... Pero luego... Se vuelve simple, terrenal y quizá eso es lo que la autora quisiera lograr... Contarnos cómo la felicidad está en las cosas del diario vivir y llega cuando no la buscamos, pero aceptamos recibirla. Sin embargo, no fue mi historia. Tampoco conecté con la manera tan saltada de contar la historia.

[Louison Lit · Rating 5 out of 5]

« Véra essaie de jeter un œil par le trou de la serrure ; on voit un coude blanc et l’éponge pleine de savon qui s’élève de bas en haut.
Soudain, quelque chose vole dans l’air et s’accroche à la poignée de la porte. On ne voit plus rien. Cela veut dire que la mère a déjà posé son petit pied sur le tapis de bain. La voilà qui se met à chanter doucement et quelque chose craque et respire tout près de Véra.
Elle avait l’odeur des jeunes femmes d’antan, qui n’utilisaient ni parfums ni lotions de friction et qui portaient du linge empesé. »

[Costin Ivan · Rating 2 out of 5]

Deși este de dimensiuni reduse, aproximativ 200 de pagini, am citit-o fragmentat și implicit nu m-a atras chiar atât de tare, dar au fost câteva dialoguri savuroase, pintre care și acesta:

”-Îți bate inima teribil de repede – spune ea subit –, e chiar comic. Așa bate mereu?
-Probabil... Îl iubești?
-Bineînțeles.
-Dar el?
-Nu încape îndoială.
-Ce fericire!
-Cinema! – iar Șurka dă din umeri. – Dar e într-adevăr de necrezut cât zgomot face inima ta. Ai zice că-i o cale ferată.”

[Olesya Gilmore · Rating 2 out of 5]

I really struggled with this, though I wanted to like it because it shows a rare glimpse into Russian emigres in Paris and Nina Berberova’s prose is so eternally lovely.

[stefania · Rating 4 out of 5]

This whole book is brilliant.
The beginning is so catchy and just very smart. The writing pace is wonderful. The settings are so fascinating and lucid, and some of these encounters and conversations are amazingly peculiar. It felt like one of those movies that keep you fascinated and mess with your head and play with the scenes.
It’s a story of love and it’s different roots of manifestation in which the protagonist is always happy, no matter what. It’s a happiness that comes from within, regardless of the circumstances.
Big ‘Veronika decides to die’ vibes but maybe it’s because I read both of them in the same collection.
Anyways, GOD I LOVE BOOKS LIKE THIS!

[Pauline · Rating 5 out of 5]

"Qu'arrive-t'il à son cœur ? Ce n'est pas lui qui bat, c'est elle tout entière qui est en ébullition, à l'intérieur, sans que les autres le voient, à cause de cette sensation merveilleuse et sauvage de vie. Le complot de l'amitié."

Composé de trois parties, Le livre du bonheur retrace la quête du bonheur de Vera, une jeune Russe expatriée à Paris après la Révolution.
La première partie se concentre sur son enfance à St-Pétersbourg et sur son amitié avec Sam, son voisin. Cette partie est belle, nostalgique et représente l'idéal du bonheur pour Vera.
La deuxième partie offre un contraste total avec le début du livre et suit Vera en Europe, pendant la maladie et la mort de son mari, dans une période dépressive.
Enfin, la dernière partie suit sa tentative de retrouver le bonheur perdu de son enfance et de recréer une vie meilleure.
Ce roman est extrêmement bien écrit et profond. Les sentiments sont décrits de manière vivide et on a vraiment l'impression de revivre la nostalgie de son enfance avec elle, de plonger dans la dépression avec elle et d'en sortir avec elle.

« "C'est lui qui est le maître de tout, et moi son esclave. Il sait bien que c'est lui qui ordonne et moi qui m'incline, comment peut-il me regarder avec tant d'abnégation, alors qu'il a un tel pouvoir ?"
Mais Karelov ne changeait pas d'expression et ne quittait pas Véra des yeux, avec cette seule pensée : pourquoi, alors qu'elle est la maîtresse de toute chose, de son existence tout entière, que tout n'est que par elle, à travers elle, le fixe-t-elle comme une esclave ? Pourquoi ? [...]
Ils ne pouvaient se dire cela et ignoraient qu'ils pensaient à la même chose, mais tous deux étaient étonnés, émus et heureux de cette union de la force terrible avec la faiblesse, de la puissance et de la sujétion. »

[John · Rating 2 out of 5]

I found this novel to be frustratingly uneven. It is about Vera, a young woman who grew up in St. Petersburg before the revolution and her life as an exile afterward. It is divided into three parts. The first part, her reminiscence about a childhood friend Sam, is excellent. The second art is about her marriage to an invalid. Also very good. But the third part I found to be unfocused and more experimental, and not in a good way. I was glad when I finally finished the book - if it had been longer I might have quit.

[Laura · Rating 3 out of 5]

...Vera tuvo la impresión de que algo se extinguía a su lado, de que se extinguía su propia vida, tan amarga, tan difícil y maravillosa, hecha de separaciones, de países desconocidos y lágrimas saladas.

Leer a Nina Berberova es encontrarte con un despliegue de emociones, nostalgia principalmente. Personajes con un destino tan incierto, tratando de ocultar la tristeza que comporten con su país natal.

[Torea Frey · Rating 3 out of 5]

This book is quite a lovely little thing. And the following caught my eye:

They had come out of the post office. Karelov licked a corner of the envelope and stuck the stamp on. She was dumbstruck. She had always been uncertain whether to wet her finger or take the gluey stamp in her mouth. And suddenly it all turned out to be so simple: you just had to lick the envelope. She stood there with her mouth open and watched him drop the letter in the mailbox.

Okay, so this is moot now that (a) no one sends snail mail any more and (b) even if one did send a letter, stamps are made like stickers now, BUT: was I a big asshole for licking the back of the stamp itself? Did I miss some crucial moment of education? I have NEVER ONCE seen anyone lick the envelope. Huhm.

[Miriam Cihodariu · Rating 4 out of 5]

If I had to describe the book in a nutshell, I'd say it's about a life-long coming of age as a woman, and about the subtle struggle of learning to be gradually more and more comfortable in your own skin. All set in beautiful Russia, so that's a pet peeve which also contributed to me liking it.

[Monica Ioan · Rating 4 out of 5]

📖"Cartea fericirii", Nina Berberova - 208 pagini📖
🖋Titlul este unul sugestiv pentru subiectul cartii, fericirea si tot ce înseamnă aceasta. O descoperim cu adevărat ori este o iluzie? Cum stim cand este reală? Probabil toți ne-am confruntat la un moment dat cu această dilemă.
🖋Romanul spune povestea Verei, o femeie care pare să alerge toată viața după ceva ce crede că se numește fericire. În copilărie, fericirea i se arată simplu, într-o jucărie, când crește, începe să creadă că o va găsi în iubire, în căsătorie, în prietenii profunde. Dar de fiecare dată când se apropie de ea, fericirea se destramă, se dovedește a fi o nălucă.
🖋Un moment foarte important este prietenia cu Sam, un vecin cu care a legat o relație curată, puternică. Plecarea lui ii va lăsa un gol in suflet Verei, un gol care nu va mai fi umplut niciodată, iar sinuciderea acestuia îi va provoca o durere care cu greu poate fi alinata.
🖋Crezând in mod greșit ca a gasit fericirea, Vera se casatoreste cu un bărbat mai in vârstă si bolnav. Moartea soțului o aruncă în singurătate, dar in mod ironic, in loc sa fie zdrobită de durere, ea descoperă o altfel de fericire, bazată pe liniște, pe eliberare.
🖋Romanul scurt al Ninei Berberova este o incursiune prin amintirile cuiva, poate chiar ale noastre, amintirile unei vieți străbătută de speranță, dezamăgiri, iubiri si doruri.
🖋Ca o concluzie, fericirea nu ar trebui căutată, ea se întâmplă pur și simplu, găsindu-se sub diverse forme, in special in liniște si in acceptarea a tot ce ne înconjoară, a vieții cu bune si cu rele.
♠️♠️♠️♠️♠️♠️♠️♠️♠️♠️♠️♠️♠️♠️♠️♠️♠️
"A crezut necontenit că e fericită. Prima oară în copilărie, când, găsind în parc un băiat necunoscut, l-a luat acasă, cu gândul să-l păstreze numai pentru ea, ca jucărie. S-a înşelat, nu era fericirea, era numai un pas spre aceasta: prietenia. A doua oară când, luând pe cineva drept altcineva, s-a căsătorit. Nu era fericirea: era o greşeală, care i-a adus milă, tristeţe şi singurătate. A treia oară, când s-a lăsat iubită, ca să-şi dovedească doar ei că este tânără, liberă şi… fericită. Nu era: propriul trup îi devenise străin. Şi apoi, la un moment dat, a ştiut sigur că nu se mai înşeală. Nu l-a crezut pe el, atunci când i-a spus că fericirea e ca aerul, n-o simţi."
4.5/5⭐️

[Realini Ionescu · Rating 3 out of 5]

The Book of Happiness by Nina Berberova



Perhaps the reason I did not like this book is that the book starts with a suicide and with my new “philosophy” I try to be positive. But it may not be that at all, I simply did not feel the “FLOW” (Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi). For some time now, I’ve become picky, fussy or just difficult with books. Especially since this book was not recommended to me by any list of best 100 books, friend or site. In the last ten years I have tried to concentrate on and read the best books, from lists made up by critics.

In the case of The Book of Happiness, there have been two re4asons to enter its world: first and foremost, the very title- I have just finished reading a fascinating book- The Science of Happiness, by Stefan Klein. I was taken aback by The Science of Happiness and I guess that after reading it, any book would have a hard time pleasing me.

The second reason I started Nina Berberova’s book was that I had read two books by her, on Nabokov and The Resurrection of Mozart, which I enjoyed. There have been two more, less important motives to read this: the book is rather small and I tend to read “less important” (for me) books in the sauna, where I spend about an hour (not 60 minutes at the same time, but throughout the day, four days a week).

I was fortunate to discover a number of psychology classics and among them a few books which explain “positive psychology”.

The Book of Happiness did not strike me as a book on “happiness”, but this is my mistake, or, if I am to analyze this failure of mine from a psychological point of view, it might be my cravings, my longings for epicurean, hedonistic moments which cause me to fail to connect with some books: if I do not get, quite quickly, into the mood, I miss the point of the book and just browse through it.



It probably is a pity, but The Book of Happiness did not find me in the right mood, or with the suitable frame of mind, available emotional intelligence, or who knows what other cause is behind the verdict: I did not like it.

[Keith · Rating 3 out of 5]

Finished THE BOOK OF HAPPINESS (1936). What does it mean to be happy? It’s the key question in this coming-of-age, semi-autobiographical story by Russian émigré author, translator, and American professor, Nina Berberova (1901-1993; see “Nina Berberova,” Roy Johnson, Mantex, 2018). The novel begins with the violent suicide of Sam Adler, the childhood friend of the protagonist, Vera. Three sections of the novel explore Vera’s obsession with happiness, first through her friendship with Sam, an emotionally frail musician. In the second section, she befriends physically frail Alexander Albertovich, who tells her “Russia is a very sad country” (p. 116). He obtains a rare travel visa and offers her the opportunity to escape the oppression of Russia as his wife. They settle in Paris, where she exchanges the political confinement of Russia for the marital confinement of taking care of an oppressive Alexander dying of lung disease. She feels relief of new freedom when he dies. In the third section, she is befriended by Lise, widow of Alexander’s brother. Vera has an affair with Karelov, whose estranged wife tries to shoot her. She takes an excursion with him but cannot bring herself to tell him she’s pregnant. Vera finally realizes that “All her life she had believed she was happy, but in fact she had been very unhappy” (p. 205). The reader is left speculating what Vera will do with her life. Berberova provides no easy answers to the question of happiness, other than to indicate Vera’s naïve, aimless existence as an exile in Paris was not a solution. Berberova is noted for her autobiography, THE ITALICS ARE MINE (1969), and for her other stories about Russian exiles collected in THE TATTERED CLOAK (1998) and THE LADIES FROM ST. PETERSBURG (2001).

[Benoît · Rating 3 out of 5]

An intriguing life story of a woman who, like Berberova, saw St Petersburg, Paris and Nice. The storytelling is soft and sensitive, mainly composed of Vera's rememberings in the first two parts after she learns of her childhood's friend untimely death, and a third part in the present. There is something about Vera, though you do not notice straight away, she is an innocent and rather immature character, who easily gets disoriented and carried away, and because her sense of sympathy is so great, she easily gets impressed and manipulated by others. Nevertheless, she gives, she takes, and relies on those moments of eternal present where she feels her gentle unity and acceptance of all things (happiness). At times a book a little ghostly and insubstantial, that reminds me, from the only book I've read by her, of Yoko Ogawa.

[Bonnie · Rating 1 out of 5]

The Book of Happiness? More like the book of crap. The timeline made no sense. The characters were vague and confusing. I'm told by a reviewer that this story is supposed to be about the perseverance of happiness. Okay. So Russia falls, Vera marries a man she doesn't love who treats her like crap and then dies. She lets her widowed sister-in-law walk all over her, her childhood friend commits suicide, and then she "finds happiness" with a married man, which is just fine because his wife is mentally disturbed (and tries to kill Vera) and their daughter died. What happiness. Hated this book. Hated it.

[Javiernes · Rating 3 out of 5]

Partí leyendo este libro con una idea completamente distinta, a pesar de que la premisa es de la muerte de Sam, el amigo de Vera, es poco lo que conocemos de él, se podría intuir ciertas cosas de su personalidad que podrían haber colaborado en su suicidio, pero el foco está realmente en la vida de Vera y su proceso de autodescubrimiento y crecimiento desde la adultez posterior a la muerte de Sam y su esposo, del que también nos cuentan como llegó a él y como era la relación que tenían.
Me tenía intrigada y metida en la historia, entre tanto salto en el tiempo o forma de contarla, pero el final no me gustó y me arruinó arruinó en parte todo lo que estaba construyendo.

[Pi. · Rating 2 out of 5]

Nah, nada remarcable. Por lo menos no lo abandoné.

Lo cogí porque era una escritora rusa medianamente contempóranea (características totalmente ausentes de mis escritores hasta la fecha) pero no salió buena. Tiene algunos destellos chéveres sobre su adolescencia en San Petesburgo durante los años Soviéticos pero son muy poco del libro para mejorarle todo.

Lo que menos me gustó fue el final rosa absoluto. Odio cuando las historias terminan en que las mujeres finalmente encuentran la felicidad enamorándose y quedándo embarazadas. Tedio.

[Yobaín Vázquez · Rating 4 out of 5]

Este libro inicia con un violinista que se suicida. Entonces muy feliz no es, a partir de ahí su protagonista, Vera, se da cuenta que muy pocas cosas en su vida la han hecho plena. Todo lo juega en contra a Vera: su físico, su personalidad incómoda, el exilio, su esposo inútil.

Nina Berveroba escribió esta novela en la que todo es ridículo y todo es opresivo. Logra, sobre todo, dotar con una psicología muy profunda a sus personajes con diálogos apenas verosímiles y eventos cotidianos. Una sorpresa leerla.

[Nina]

This book is bizarre and stunning, and I really liked it.

I realized only once I was holding the book in my hands that I recognized the translator's name from a project I participated in this summer through an NGO I've been translating for over the past decade (in my spare time). The idea that I was on email threads with an acclaimed literary translator who's been at this since before I was born makes me feel a bit of wistful, starstruck awe -- in a way that only someone who gave up their own translation dreams for a stable job "working with data" can feel.

[Damjan Pulec · Rating 3 out of 5]

The book has three parts. The first is happening in Sankt Peresburg before communism. This part is like Christmas fairy tale. The other two parts are happening abroad and are more dark and groomy. Vera is searching for happiness. She doesn’t want peace or harmony, but only happiness. And although after leaving Russia there is less and less light in the book, there is always something that bring happiness to Vera. Whether she find it it is not clear.

[Sarah · Rating 4 out of 5]

Great book, could not put down. Did not touch on as much of the revolution as I thought it would based On dust cover.

[Tjasa · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.5*